


Beautiful Music

by JayWrites



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: Car Sex, F/M, Fingering, Oral Sex, Smut, sexy fun times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 01:45:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3791980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayWrites/pseuds/JayWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You and your ex-FWB, Tom, rendezvous after your show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Music

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JazzyTee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzyTee/gifts).



> I wrote this for JazzyTee's birthday so the fic contains her name and other references. I will not change this because it is dedicated to her.

The sound of the audience’s applause is thunderous as you take a bow. You have just finished performing to a packed out club. You blow a kiss to random persons as you thank them for their support. After two long years of recording and fighting with the record company you finally released your debut album. You are living the dream! Your first single, “Love Lives Here,” has been steadily climbing up the charts but, unfortunately, it hasn’t made it past number eight. Not that you’re complaining! Eight is good! Out of the millions of songs released on a near constant basis eight seems like number one. However, record executives don’t share your enthusiasm. They invested a lot of money and energy in you and they expect a pay off. So to help boost your album sales you have been doing nonstop promoting for the last three months. You’ve flown around nearly every city in the U.S. that you’re not even sure if you’re in good ol’ New York, New York or Somewhereville, Wisconsin. It’s all the same at the end of the night anyway. Every club looks the same. Every bartender pours the same drink. Every hotel bed feels like a rock.

The only thing that changes is the energy from the crowd. Every night you sing those same twelve songs from your album but when you’re in front of an audience every song feels brand new. You can still remember being overcome with emotion two weeks ago when the audience started singing the chorus to “Love Lives Here” before you even got a chance to. Now that feeling is returning as the people starts chanting, “Encore! Encore!”

You look back at your band to see if they’re up for another number. (You all have been up since dawn rehearsing and you just finished giving a two hour performance in a smoke filled club.) They shrug and nod their approval. You turn back to the audience. “Here’s a song I’m sure you’re all familiar with. It’s ‘Summertime’ from _Porgy & Bess_.” You nod to your band and the pianist begins to play out the melody to the classic song. The horns soon fall in behind him followed by the light “rat-tat-tatting” of the cymbals. Playing the song is second nature to you all. You sing it nearly every morning during rehearsals.

You lick your lips and gently clear your throat before crooning out the iconic lyrics. “Summertime… and the living is easy…” You’ve only just begun and already the audience is feeling it. They whoop and cheer as you belt out the tune. “Your daddy’s rich and your mama’s good looking…” In your mouth the words become a siren’s song. The audience has been captured by your vocals and you refuse to let them go even after the song ends. You move on to another favorite in your repertoire, Nina Simone’s “Feeling Good.” The enraptured souls have now fallen even deeper under your spell. You see them sway and mouth along with you.

They tap their feet and snap their fingers to the beat as you move onto another classic of Ms. Simone’s, “I Put A Spell On You.” How apropos! The people lift their hands as you coo out, “…you can’t stop the things I do! I ain’t lyin’…” They react as if this is more than a simple concert. Maybe it is. With the way they’re shouting out, “Sing, child! Ooh, yes! Go on, girl!” it’s almost a religious experience. You are more than willing to bless them. You continue on with some Ella then Billie. You throw in a couple of Stevie Wonder songs as well as the Jackson 5’s version of “Who’s Lovin’ You” before ending it on a modern note with a replay of your single.

It’s a little after one thirty in the morning when your second concert ends. You’re tired but you spend an extra twenty minutes greeting your fans. (Hey, if it wasn’t for them you would still be in your older brother Chris’ basement singing pop tunes into your hairbrush.) “That was so amazing,” one person tells you.

“When you sang Nina—ugh!—I felt shivers,” another says.

You smile and thank them both before being interrupted by the sound of your drummer and guitarist arguing. “Guys,” you say with a quick roll of your eyes before mouthing out an apology to the small group of onlookers, “don’t do this now!” You go to pull them apart but stop short when you remember getting knocked onto the wet pavement outside of some joint in San Antonio last month. You fell back on your wrist hard and sprained it. Both men felt guilty about you getting hurt but not enough to put aside their animosity. You beg for another band member, Cory, to put a stop to the fighting before things escalate. The last thing you needed was some bullshit drama tarnishing your budding career.

You fold your arms across your chest and sigh heavily as you watch the three men argue now. Turns out the other two didn’t like Cory stepping in. _Dammit, Jasmine! You should’ve known better_ , you think as you pull out your cell from your jacket pocket. There is no way in hell you’re riding back with them to the hotel. You Google “cabs in” then curse yourself when you realize you can’t remember the name of the city you’re in. Great! You’re tired, cold, _and_ stranded. Your good evening has now officially turned to shit.

In the middle of your pity party you hear an accented voice say, “Jasmine!”

You turn to the direction of the voice and squint the greeter into focus (your poor contacts are nearly dried out thanks to the cigarette smoke from the club). “Oh…my…god,” you say when you see the voice’s owner. “Tom?” Tom William Hiddleston. Your not-quite ex. You guys sort of dated a couple years ago. Well, not necessarily dated. More like fucked nearly nonstop for a few months before he returned to London. God that was such a good summer!

His long legs strut towards you and enclose the distance between you both in seemingly half the time it would have taken you. He gives that “ehehehe” laugh of his before trapping you in a bear hug. When he does you catch a good whiff of his cologne. The moment the scent hits your nostrils your mind starts to flood with memories of his deep voice in your ear as he stroked into you repeatedly. You feel your body temperature start to rise as you recount the endless orgasms you received from him. Seriously…that was one great summer!

“I haven’t seen you in forever,” he says as he rocks you left and right. He pulls back but maintains his grasp on your shoulders as he flashes you a big smile. He hasn’t changed much since you last seen him. His hair is a little blonder than you remember and his build is a lot bigger than the lean physique you’re accustomed to but from what you can tell (in the dark) he still looks the same. “You look good.”

“Thanks,” you say as you brush a curl from your brow. “You do, too.” You both don’t speak for a moment as his eyes unabashedly roam your body. You don’t hide from the inspection. You even poke out your chest as you stretch your arms out in a faux yawn. After giving him an appropriate amount of time to ogle your goodies you say, “So…what are you doing here?”

“I came to see your show.”

“No, I mean _here_ , in this city.”

“Oh! I’m working on a movie downtown.”

“Ooh, fancy,” you joke. “What’s—” The sound of yelling behind you cuts you off. You turn just in time to see the drummer slug the guitarist dead in the nose. The hit was so strong that it knocked the man straight to the ground. “Oh shit,” you exclaim as you run over to the men. “What happened? What happened? Greg—” You touch the drummer’s arm but he angrily snatches it away. You turn your attention to the man on the ground. “Peter? Are you okay?” He nods in response. He tries to rise but only falls back instead. You and a couple members of your band help him up. “We should get him to a hospital. His nose could be broken. I’ll call an ambulance.”

“I don’t think it’s that serious,” Cory says while sneering at Greg. Greg curses and spits on the ground then storms off.

“Where are you going,” you call after him.

“To cool down!”

“He should have thought of _that_ ten minutes ago,” you mumble as you turn your attention back to Peter.

“Oh god that’s a lot of blood,” he says before spitting some onto the ground.

“Shit,” Cory says wide eyed at the amount of red painting Peter’s chin and shirt. “I was wrong. I think he might need some help.”

“You think,” Courtney, your bassist, sarcastically comments.

“Lean your head back,” you say as you gently pull Peter’s head backwards.

“No, he’s supposed to lean forward or else he’ll swallow more blood,” Courtney corrects.

“Does he need to go to hospital,” Tom asks. “I have my rental. I can take him.”

“No, we have a truck,” Courtney says as she drapes one of Peter’s arms across the nape of her neck. “But thanks, dude.”

You grab his other arm and help her carry the stout man’s weight. “Where’s the nearest hospital?”

“No,” Cory says as he removes Peter’s arm from around your neck. “You’re not coming with us.” He carries the bulk of the man’s weight now; Courtney rubs her back in relief. “You shouldn’t get mixed up in all of this. It’s not god for your image.”

“But—”

“No buts! Go back to the hotel and rest your vocals. We’ll call you later.”

“It’s okay,” Peter says softly. “Go rest. I’ll be fine.”

“What about Greg,” you ask Cory. “We can’t just leave him wandering around a strange city late at night.”

“I’ll deal with him.” Cory looks at Tom. “You know him,” he asks you. You nod and inform him that Tom’s an old friend. “Good. Can you give her a ride back to the hotel, kid? The truck’s gonna be pretty packed.”

“Sure.” He puts his hand on your lower back and leads you away from the scene. You look back one last time and see the group stuffing Peter into the back of the truck before hopping into the vehicle and quickly driving off the lot.

\--------

You’re silent for majority of the car ride; your mind is still on the previous events. “Fucking Greg! He always pulls this shit!”

“He’s done this before,” Tom asks; his eyes temporary leave the road to stare at your profile.

“Shit? Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes,” he says with a chuckle.

“Sorry. I tried to hold it in as long as I could. I was having such a great night, too!” You suck your teeth and look out the window at the foreign city’s passing landscapes. “And now my birthday’s officially ruined.”

“It’s your birthday?”

“Yep.” You point to the digital clock on the dash. “Has been for the last couple of hours.”

“Shit, Jazz! We should do something.”

“I would love to, hon, but I’m only going to be in town for a little while. We’re leaving around ten.”

“Then we need to make the best of the time you have left.”

“We really should.” A sly smile etches onto your face as you look back at him. A few of his long fingers casually drum along the steering wheel and you can almost feel the ghost of his digits moving in and out of you. His tongue darts out to quickly wet his thin lips and now you’re remembering how that great that devilish little thing felt dragging across every inch of your skin. He sniffs and rocks slightly in his seat. Your eyes immediately drop to his lap. You’re so tempted to walk your hand up his thigh just to see his reaction. Would he jump back and reprimand you? Or would he pull over and take you up on your offer?

“Will you please stop staring at me like that,” he demands as he turns into the right lane.

“Like what,” you reply coyly.

“Like… _that!_ ”

You chuckle and briefly focus back on the landscape. “How long has it been since we’ve last seen each other?”

“Um…I don’t know. I think a year and a half? Maybe two?”

“Did you miss me,” you nearly coo the question.

“Of course I did, Jasmine. You’re one of my closest friends.”

“No, I mean,” you cross your right leg over your left causing your dress to inch up, “ _miss me_ miss me.” He glances down at your supple brown thigh and awkwardly shifts in his seat. You try to stifle a laugh as his cheeks begin to redden. “What’s the matter, Thomas? You look a little flushed.” The annoyance over the incident between Greg and Peter are now far out of your mind. Now your sole focus is torturing your ex-lover. You began to draw spirals on his thigh.

“Jasmine,” his voice is barely above a whisper. “I-I-I have a girlfriend.” You toss your head back and slap your palms together as you cackle at his words. “What’s so funny,” his voice is now calm and holds a hint of irritation.

“Your girlfriend.”

“You’re being rude, Jasmine. You don’t even know her.”

“Let me guess, she’s unbelievably dull in looks and personality. I bet you pick fights with her just so you can convince yourself that she’s _mildly_ fascinating. The sex is good but you _definitely_ had better.” You arrogantly flip your curls before continuing, “And I even bet you forgot all about the girl until I made a move on you, didn’t you?”

His jaw flexes—something he does when he’s upset—and his grip tightens on the wheel. “Goddammit, Jazz…”

You pay no mind to his angry expression. You’re having way too much fun harassing him to stop now. “We both know that whenever you’re done filming,” you opine, “you’ll go back to dull little What’s-her-face and have dull sex and the whole time you’ll be thinking, ‘Gee…I really wish I let Jasmine blow me in that rental.’” You chuckle mischievously. You know you’re being an asshole but you can’t help it. He’s so easy to toy with. You love flustering him. He’s nearly a decade your senior and yet he becomes a whimpering teenager around you. It didn’t take much to seduce him two years ago. All you had to do was bat your lashes and “accidentally” press against him one too many times and he was putty in your hands. “I’m sorry, babe,” you continue, “but all these… carbon cutouts you date will never satisfy you. There was only one girl in your life woman enough for you,” you playfully put your hand to your chest and shimmy your shoulders, “and that’s me.”

“Goddammit, Jazz,” he repeats but his stern tone only makes you laugh harder. Your laugh is cut short when you feel the car come to a sudden, jerking halt. He beats his fists against the wheel twice. “Fuck! Jasmine, must you always torture me?” Okay… _now_ you’re starting to regret messing with him.

“Tom, I was just joking! I didn’t—” He puts his index finger up to silence you. He unbuckles his seatbelt and exits the car. Oh, you’ve done it now. You’ve pushed him too far and now he’s going to _literally_ murder you. Screaming for help won’t do you any good because it’s well past two thirty in the morning. (The only other vehicle you’ve seen tonight was a raggedy green car and _that_ passed you ten minutes ago.) Running! That’s always an option! Except you’re in a strange city in whichever state and you have no idea how to get back to your hotel without Tom’s GPS. (The one on your phone hasn’t worked properly since you switched carriers. All those towers and yet you can’t access Google Maps.) There’s nothing else to do in times like these but get right with the Lord. You mentally say a tiny prayer as the door reopens and Tom sits back at the wheel.

He stares at you. You feel your breath shorten as his blue eyes falls from yours to your lips then to your chest before landing somewhere out the window. “I’m sorry if I frightened you, Jazz.”

“That’s…that’s okay.” For the first time in what seems like an eternity, you exhale. “I shouldn’t have been an asshole.”

“You weren’t—well you _were_ being an asshole but… you also have the misfortune of being right.”

“Wait, what?”

“Alyssa, my girlfriend, she’s great. It’s just… she’s missing something. I guess I never really thought much about it until tonight.”

“Tom, those comments I made—”

“No! It wasn’t anything you said. Jazz, when I heard you sing tonight it-it did something to me. I’ve heard you sing numerous times since we’ve known each other but watching you perform? God, it took everything in me not to storm that stage and…” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck.

“And do what,” you coax. You know what he’s going to say but there’s a part of you that needs to hear him say it. You need to hear him beg for you. “And do what?”

“Jasmine, you know.”

“Yeah, but I want you to say it.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and lean across the armrest. You’re so close now that you’re practically sharing the same breath. You caress his bearded jaw line and smile at the way it scratches your fingertips. He covers your hand with his and closes his eyes as he rubs his cheek against your palm. “C’mon, Tommy,” you whisper, “say it.”

His eyes flutter open and a shiver runs through you as those blue eyes gazes into your brown ones. “I… I want you.” Without hesitation, you crush your lips against his. Your hand drops from his face to his broad chest. You move further down—taking a second to appreciate the definition of his abs through the thin fabric of his shirt—before landing on his lap. His breath hitches as you massage his cock through his pants.

Your hands work frantically at the zipper but it won’t budge. “Fuck!”

“I got it! I got it!” He fumbles with it for a moment before it finally gives. He frees his cock from his boxers and begins stroking it.

You bend over to wrap your full lips around his cock but the fitted fabric of your jacket prevents you from moving properly. Your hand knocks against the glass of the front window as you try to remove your jack. “Ow! Fuck,” you exclaim in pain.

Tom laughs before grabbing your hand and kissing your knuckles. “Here, let me help you.” He grabs the lapels of your jacket, quickly frees you from it, and carelessly tosses it into the backseat. You peck him once on the lips before promptly burying your face into his lap. He sucks in air as you lick the pre-cum from the tip of his cock. Then you trail your tongue down his shaft and then back up before wrapping your mouth around it. You begin to bob on his length until you eventually find a good rhythm. “Aah…Jazz…”

His moans are better than any applause you have gotten in the last three months. No chants of “encore” or “sing it, girl’s” could ever compare to hearing him pant your name. To show your gratitude, you begin to increase your speed. “Shit, Jasmine! I’ve missed your mouth!” The car begins to fill with the slurping sounds your actions are causing. He grabs a handful of your curls and forces you to take more of him into your mouth. Water stings your eyes as his cock hits against the back of your throat but you don’t care. You grow wetter with each rhythmic movement of your head. You spread your legs as far as possible then slip a hand between your thighs and rub your clit through your underwear. You hum against his cock as you pleasure yourself. “Oh fu—god! I want to be inside you.”

He immediate frees your curls from his grip and you wipe the corners of your mouth as you sit back up in your seat. “Can we both fit in the back,” you ask as you examine the size of the backseat.

“Yeah. It’s bigger than it looks.” You’re in no mood to disagree. Truthfully, you want him inside you just as badly. You both quickly readjust your clothes before relocating to the back of the vehicle. The doors were barely fully shut behind you before he claws at the thin straps of your dress. His eager actions cause one of them to snap. “Oh, shit! I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t expensive.” You pull the other strap down as you straddle his lap. He pulls the bottom of your dress up so that it now sits in bunched around your waist. His hand massages your breast through your strapless bra as his tongue dances across your jaw then your neck. You moan as his beard scratches against your skin. “Thomas…” You begin to grind against his crotch. “Yes…”

He pulls the cups of your bra down and kisses across your cleavage. His hand drops down between your thighs and pulls you panties to the side. He slips a finger between your wet folds. “God, Jasmine… you’re so fucking wet.”

“Touch me,” you command. You tilt your head back and moan as he inserts a finger inside you. “Aah…yes…,” you call out as you grind against his hand. While his fingers are pumping in and out of you, his other hand cups your right tit and rolls his thumb across your brown nipple. He flicks your nipple with his tongue before fully wrapping his mouth around it and sucking on it. “Oh god, Tom!” You look down and see that his eyes are locked on you. He never breaks his focus with you as he trails his tongue across your chest to your left breast. He gently bites on your nipple causing excitement to shoot through you like lightening. “Yes! Yes…”

His fingers are moving inside you at a furious pace now. He presses his thumb against your clit causing you to buck against his hand. “Oh shit! I’m gonna come.” The moment you say the words, all his movements stop. “No, no, no,” you whine. “Don’t stop.” He removes his fingers from inside you and brings them to his mouth.

“I want to be inside,” he reminds you. You place both hands on the seat behind him and lift off his lap. He carefully unzips his pants and frees his hard cock. He guides himself to your entrance. He places a hand on your hip and slowly lowers you onto his length. Your mouth drops open as you try to readjust to his size. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You bite your lips as you slowly rock on his cock.

“God, you still feel so fucking good!”

“I—aah!—I know!” The temperature in the car begins to rise as your speed steadily increases. Tom begins to move his hips in rhythm with yours. His nails dig into the flesh of your ass as his grip on it tightens. His eyes fall on your bouncing tits. He cups both breast in his hand and squeezes them gently before pushing them together. The beautiful music you sang earlier does not compare to the sounds that falls out of your mouth as his tongue circles around one nipple then the other. You’re not going to last much longer. “I’m about to—” Before you can finish your warning, your orgasm ripples through you.

“Fuck,” he exclaims as you pulse around his cock.

“Don’t come inside me.”

“Where then? On you?”

“No, no, no. My throat.” You rise off his lap and sit next to him. Your lips are barely securely wrapped around his cock before he shoots his come into your mouth. You don’t swallow as much of it as you hope so some of it gets on his boxers and pants.

“Sorry,” he says as he wipes the excess fluid off your bottom lip.

“It’s okay,” you pant as you lean back against the seat. He leans into the front of the car and turns the engine over so he can crack the windows a bit. When he does, the cool night air wafts into the car and chills the sweat on your skin. He slumps back next to you and wraps his arm around your shoulders.

He rests his head atop your curls. “I wish you didn’t have to leave in the morning,” he muses. “Then we could spend the rest of your birthday fucking like crazy.”

“Well, come to think of it, I did just pull an all-nighter. And, you know, if you don’t get proper vocal rest,” you give a fake cough, “it can damage the cords.” You massage your throat. “I don’t think anyone would be upset if I took a day off.”

“Or two or three.” You both chuckle at his comment. He takes a moment to soak in your features. His eyes linger on your lips before returning to meet yours. “Sing to me,” he demands suddenly.

“I’m not sure you want me too. It’s really late and my voice is probably shot to shit.”

“I don’t care.”

“Okay. What would you like to hear.”

“‘Love Lives Here.’” You smile broadly before clearing your throat and cooing out the sweet lyrics to the song. He closes his eyes and let’s your voice momentarily take him away.

“…Baby, don’t you ever worry or fear,” you sing as you run your fingers through his hair, “just know your love lives here…”


End file.
